Being kids
by Zora Arian
Summary: Just a few random moments in an AU where Sherlock and Molly are kids.
1. You look like you need a friend

**I found out that I'm much better with stories that don't have a constant theme, because my mind actually strays away while doing something. Besides that, my major exams are in October, so whenever I got ideas, they are never about caring. For that, I profusely apologise for my other fic, All to do with caring, that became 'complete' without any warning. T^T That said, I'll be doing one-shots from now on when I have free time, to compensate, I guess…  
Anyway, I've got inspiration from another fanart again! This one's from Graphitekind's 'BBC Sherlock comic: bad at playgrounds' over at dA, so if anyone knows of him/her, please inform him/her that I've got inspired. The drawing's cute, if I may add :3**

Molly Hooper, age 5, kept sneaking glances at the raven curly-haired boy about a few feet away from her. She noticed he had been by himself since he arrived 20 minutes ago. Molly was definitely not a social butterfly (or any other insect for that matter; she absolutely hate them), but at her age, when the only time she talked to someone else other than her imaginary friend Pipa was Mr Lucky (her favourite yellow teddy bear with a large bow on its neck, given as a birthday present the year before), she was constantly encouraged (no, scratch that, forced) by her parents to talk to the other kids at daycare. She never paid those requests mind because she adamantly held on to the belief that Pipa and Mr Lucky were all that she needed. But when Mr Lucky was hidden in the attic (she dared not go up there; it's DARK and full of SCARY SPIDERS) and Pipa left her alone after she accidentally insulted her dress, Molly became lonely. 'Should have talked to the others. Now that we're 2/3 in the year, none of them wants to talk to me,' she had thought, and kept to herself ever since.

Until she saw that boy.

She knew he was the new kid that came into the daycare, and in some ways, he was like her. He held on to a teddy bear, and prefered to be alone, as seen from the numerous times he ignored the other daycare kids' invitations to play with them. Molly, somehow sensing that although he refused to play with the kids, he was quite lonely, decided to approach him. 'Since we're quite the same, maybe he'll be my first friend, as I might be to him.' Full of new-found confidence, she made her way to him.

He was reading a rather thick book, something about a pirate's legacy, with his bear clutched to his chest. Upon seeing him, Molly saw that he was about a year older than her. Nonetheless, she pressed on.

"You look like you need a friend," she observed, standing beside him while giving the brightest and friendliest smile she ever owned.

Suddenly something soft smacked her in the face (very hard), obscuring her view of the boy. The impact made her nose sting badly and when the object was removed, she tried to hold back tears of pain, opting to wrinkle her nose to relieve the stinging instead. Without even glancing up from his book, the boy brought his hand with the bear back to his chest, saying in the process, "Incorrect deduction."


	2. Tag, you're it!

**This one's a short, all-dialogue drabble. Had this in mind, and…why not? Just a tip: Sherlock's the one with more words :P**

"TAG, YOU'RE IT!"

"Why you no running?"  
"It's 'why you're not running?' And I'm not running, because I'm reading."  
"But we're playing tag!"  
"**You** are playing tag. I have no part in it."  
"Oh, well. TAG!"  
"Why'd you do that **again**?"  
"'Cause you said you no part-"  
"You've no part"  
"-in it, so now i make you part in it!"

":D"  
"Leave me alone."  
"Aww. Play with me, please?"  
"No. I'm busy."  
"Reading's booorring. Playing tag's fun! Come on!"  
"How is being chased by someone who is potentially bigger and faster than yourself, who may or may not have a mean and scary face, and follow you around the court until you tire, which then he'll be able to tag you, and ultimately you becoming this so-called tagger, fun?"

"…"  
"…it's great exercise."  
"Once again, leave me alone."  
"Whatcha reading?"  
"Something your little brain can't comprehend."  
"What's 'comprehend'?"  
"Understand."  
"Yes, i can! See-"  
"Hey!"  
"-this one! 'I' means me, right? Correct?"  
"Understand the concepts, not words."  
"…oh. Still, reading's boring."  
"You're gonna have to read a lot when you grow older, so might as well start now."  
"…oh. Umm, when i go home, I'll read my storybooks. Th-that's okay, right? Reading storybooks, instead of thick books - like yours?"  
"Yes, yes, that's fine."

"…"

"I'm going. Mummy's calling."  
"Okay."  
"Oh, and…"  
"Hmm?"

"…"  
"…tag."

"…"  
"…eh? Wha?…THAT'S **CHEATING**!"


	3. Number games

**Another Kid AU. Really, I do wonder how Sherlock was during his childhood. Was he just like now-cold, aloof, distant? Or was he actually normal, friendly even, then something made him become the man he is now? I like to think positive, so please don't curse at me cos I prefer the second choice…**

"Hey, Sherlock?" Molly nudged the bony shoulder of the boy sitting beside her with her tiny finger. "Can we play something?"

"If you are suggesting cooking again, I will move miles away from you," Sherlock warned her, not looking up from the book he was reading.

"No, don't leave! I wasn't thinking of that at all!" she pleaded.

He turned his head to his left, eyes leaving the text to see her face, eyebrow raised.

"Okay. Maybe not 'at all'…" she conceded, then hurried when she saw his eyes returning to the book, "but another game? I'm bored, Sherlock."

"Go and read then if you're so bored," he suggested dismissively.

"I've already read Cinderella and Snow White," she whined.

"Not Little Red Riding Hood, you haven't."

"That's at home; it's not in my bag now. Oh please, can we play a game? Please, please, pweety puh-lease?"

Sherlock eventually became irritated at her whining and slammed shut his book. He faced her, grimacing at the puppy-eye look she was giving him. After a few seconds' worth of deliberating, he decided to give in and humour her. He would rather go through a few minutes of gameplay to a few hours of listening to her whine over and over again. "'Puh-lease' stop whining. What 'game' are you suggesting we play then?"

"Oh, oh, I play this game with my cousins all the time! Okay, now, you. You go and think of a number, and I'll gu-"

"Two hundred forty-eight thousand, five hundred twenty-three."

Molly gave him a glare. "I haven't finish! I'm suppose to guess your number! …although I don't think I'll ever get that…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine, continue."

"You think of a number between 1 to 10 and I'll guess it."

He gave a withered look. "You call that a game?"

"But it's fun! …got a number yet?"

"…yes. Start guessing."

Molly rubbed her hands together and started. "Seven?"

"No."

"Ten?"

"No."

"Three?"

He considered this before answering, "Close."

"Hah!" her grin was wide, "four!"

"Nope."

"Two?"

"No."

Her grin faltered. "Huh? Those are the only numbers close to three!"

"There's pi. 3.14159."

Molly furrowed her eyebrows in recollection. "Never heard of a pie called 'three point one four…something something…'."

"Pi's a math symbol, Molly. Used to calculate the circumference or area of a circle."

"…did we learn that last week?" she asked, unsure and worried that she may have missed the lesson.

"Came from Brother Mycroft's textbook."

"Why'd you memorise it then?"

"Thought it'd come in useful soon," he shrugged.

"Useful to show off that is," Molly muttered under her breath, annoyed at Sherlock's tendency to bring in bombastic words or phrases that she could not even pronounce.

He heard her, though, and before he could defend himself, an idea came to him.

"I have something. Wanna try?" he asked her.

"Really, you have? Yes! I wanna try!" she eagerly replied, turning her whole body so she was sitting facing him.

"Okay. Think of a number between 1 to 10," he began.

"You have it?" She nodded; her number's 3, her favourite number. "Good. Now I want you to add 4 to the number."

3 plus 4 is 7.

"Multiply your answer by 2."

7 times 2 is 14.

"Then you subtract 6 from the product."

"Eh?"

"Answer minus 6," he simplified for her.

"Oh." 14 minus 6 is…8. 8, right?

"Do not have doubts!" he told her in response to the slightly lost expression she was wearing. "It'll affect the whole thing! Count again."

…yup, 8. Molly nodded her confirmation of her answer.

"Alright, divide your answer by 2 and subtract the number you've started with from it."

8 divided by 2 is 4, and 4 minus 3 is-

"Your answer's 1."

Molly stared agape at the boy in front of her, who was giving her a smirk in satisfaction at getting it correct. Of couse it's correct, it's supposed to be correct, he thought smugly.

"H-how'd you…" she asked in wonderment.

Sherlock stood up with his book in his right hand and gave her a wink as the bell rang, telling all kids to enter the building. "A magician never reveals his secret."

She watched his retreating form before calling out, "You're no magician! Where's your pointy hat?"


	4. Of Barbie dolls and tug of wars

**Another chapter for this cute fic :) Remember the times when Barbie dolls were the best thing a girl could ever have? … My Barbie doll lost her head. Up till now, I still can't find it…**

Sherlock and John were walking in the play area, discussing about the latest video game, when they heard sobbing. They both stopped and frowned at each other. John perked up his ears when another sob came and gestured to his companion to follow him. They turned round the corner and John yelped when he felt something touch- no, it seemed to be **grabbing** his leg!

"ARGH!"

"W-wait, John! It-it's me, Molly," the owner of the 'something' spoke up, sniffing.

Sherlock scoffed at John's reaction, to which he received a glare. John peered down at the tiny girl seated on the ground hugging her legs. Her face had a lot of tear tracks and her eyes were swollen from crying.

"What's wrong, Molly?" Ever the concerned being, he knelt beside her, pushing her fringe away from her eyes to take a better look at her. Sherlock leaned against the bricked wall, hands in his trouser pockets.

"I- I lost my Barbie doll. An-and Mummy will sc-scold me," she hiccuped and sniffed.

"Hey, I and Sherlock will help you find it, okay?" he told her, and looked up to Sherlock. He just shrugged.

"Where's the last place you had it?" Sherlock questioned as John helped Molly up.

"Classroom," she said, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles.

Sherlock passed her his handkerchief and she took it, muttering a thank you as she wiped her eyes with it. John looked at him, not believing what he had just seen. Sherlock being kind to someone? Sherlock saw his expression and rolled his eyes. "I just don't like seeing somebody's face wet with tears." The blond raised an eyebrow in sceptism.

After getting his handkerchief back, the black haired boy led the both of them to the classroom Molly had indicated, and they all searched for her doll.

It was less than 5 minutes later when Sherlock declared it not there, and he asked about Molly's movements that afternoon.

"I went to the toilet, but I know I didn't bring Amy with me. Then Ms Diana wanted to see me. Then…I don't remember," she said, eyebrows together in concentration.

"Alright, we go to Ms Diana's office, then we trace back your steps. You might remember where you've been then," John suggested. Both his friends nodded in agreement and they made their way to Ms Diana's office.

Apparently, they did not have to trace Molly's steps after all, because halfway through the journey, Sherlock nudged at them and pointed to their left. Molly gasped; she saw her doll. John grimaced; he saw a dog chewing on the doll's body.

"NOO!" Molly ran over to her doll, the two boys trailing behind her. She managed to grab her doll's legs, but the dog held a firm grip on the head instead.

It became a sort of tug-of-war after that: Molly pulling her doll by the legs while the dog with the head in his mouth pulled from the other side. Molly grunted; the dog growled; John stood frozen in surprise; Sherlock wondered when it would end.

Then the unimaginable happened: Molly got her doll back.

Wait, no. That's not the 'unimaginable' (although it is quite unlikely a small girl could win over a dog in tug-of-war). The 'unimaginable' was that Molly got the **body** of her doll back.

The head stayed in the dog's mouth.

Molly looked at the head protruding from the dog's mouth and then to her headless doll, and back again, before promptly fainting. Sherlock coaxed the head out of the dog's drooling mouth while John rushed to the unconscious girl and dangled the head over John's line of sight. He swatted it away and gave the boy a worried look. "What do we do now?"

Said boy sat down on the pavement beside the girl, whose head laid on the blond's lap, placed the head beside the doll's body, and brought his legs up, elbows on the knees. "Well, we wait. Wonder how Molly would react, knowing her doll is now not only beheaded, but also almost hairless."


	5. Turning left and right to get to lingery

**Supermarkets. Are Huge. (well, in where I live, they are) It's a wonder how one can go in there, find whatever they need without any help (okay, fine. Signboards don't count) and don't come out feeling frustrated. -Oh, just for the record, this one's mostly John and Molly. Someone *ahemTheAnnoyingOne97ahem* got me into thinking that kid!John would totally be cute and adorable :3 :DDD**

* * *

"Now kids, don't run off!" Mrs Watson called to John and Molly, who were running around the shelves playing tag.

It was Shopping Day yet again in the Watson's household. Usually, Mrs Watson and Mrs Hooper, newfound friends from meeting by chance in the daycare where their kids were, would do shopping together, while at the same time gossip about the latest news and fashion. But that day, Mrs Hooper could not come with her for she needed to stay at home and clean the house; there was a guest coming over. Molly had whined about missing Shopping Day and not playing with John, so Mrs Watson offered to bring her along, and she ran over to hug the laughing lady.

"Tag, you're it!" Molly tagged John by the arm and ran off.

"Come here, you!" He chased after her.

Mrs Watson shook her head and read the labels on various food produce, at the same time keeping a half-eye on the kids. But when one product grabbed all her attention, she momentarily forgot about the children.

* * *

"Aha, got you!" John wrapped his arms around Molly as she ran past him.

"Hey, you're supposed to be tagging me at the arm, not hugging me! That's cheating!" she smacked his hands that were on her stomach hard.

He released her, rubbing his sore hands, frowning slightly at her. "You always manage to escape quickly, so it was the only way to catch you!" he shrugged.

"Okay, fine- hey, where's Mrs Watson?" she enquired, looking around and not finding the plump woman anywhere in the vicinity.

"Mummy? Shouldn't she be- oh. We ran away from her," he frowned again, this time in worry.

He turned around to tell his companion to follow him and find his mother but instead did a facepalm. Molly had tears streaking down her cheeks, doe eyes wide as she stared and sniffed at the older boy.

"Molly, don't…don't cry now, please," John pleaded, approaching and handing her tissue papers he did not even know he had. "We'll find Mummy, okay?"

"This place is-is huge!" she hiccuped and wiped her eyes. "H-how are we t-to get out of this place?"

"We'll find Mummy, okay?" he tried to reassure her, but inside he was freaking out more than the girl.

"Okay," he said, once she cooled down, "let's go- ah, a map!"

He ran to the directory board, Molly dragging her feet to catch up with him. He was mumbling and staring intently at the board when she got near him and he suddenly turned to her. She jumped back, startled.

"Ah, sorry. Okay, Mummy, if I'm not wrong, is a-"

"What if you are?" she interjected.

"Wha- no! I-I know my Mummy well enough, and- and she should be here by now!" He **randomly** stabbed at the location marked 'lingerie'.

"Lin-guh-ri? What's that?"

"Should be where the flour is. Mummy always goes in there and comes out with flour."

* * *

"So how we get there?" Molly asked once they were moving again. She gripped at John's hand tightly, not wanting to part with him and get lost in this humongous building.

"From here, we walk straight, then we turn to the right, right again, left, go forward, maybe a left again, then we'll reach the lingery," he provided, showing her the 'right' and 'left' directions wrongly.

At that moment, with the little girl clinging onto him as if he was her only hope of survival (not that she'd die if she did get lost. Just look at where they are), he felt like he was a grown-up, guiding her out of this situation.

They came to their first intersection of shelves and John led her to the right, which was in actual fact left, then they moved forward, turning to the correct right, and it seemed the third time they finally came at a crossroads in direction.

"So…where?" Molly asked, looking between their left and right sides.

"Hmm, let me just remember…ah! We go left!" he said, then turned to his right.

"But I thought that's left," she pointed to her left side.

"That's right," he 'corrected'.

"We're going left, right?"

"Right."

"So this is right," she questioned, pointing to her left, "and that one's left?"

"Right."

"It's right?"

"No, it's left."

"But Mummy always tells me right is here," she raised her right hand, "and this is left, so that right you were pointing wasn't right and it is left, so right should be there…"

They stared at each other; John baffled at the overwhelming 'rights', Molly having no idea what she had just said.

"…right?"

* * *

With having no idea how to get to the…'lingery' section, John sat on the floor, adamant on not giving up and thinking about where they were now, recalling all the times he had been here with his mother. If he could recognise a route, it may lead to the 'lingery' section. Molly dropped beside him and rested her head on his shoulder, yawning softly to the back of her small hand. She felt tired after their game of tag and all this walking around, and she felt like drifting off to sleep then and there.

She did not realise she had actually dozed off until someone shook her vigorously. She slapped the hands away and buried her head deeper into John's shoulder, when she was rudely carried upwards by her hands. The sudden action brought her to her senses and she wobbled when she stood on her two feet. She turned around to reprimand whoever it was that caused her to get up when she saw a familiar boy with black curls wearing a blue scarf around his neck, black long-sleeved shirt and trousers.

She stepped back from the intensity of his greyish-blue eyed gaze and folded her arms, slightly glaring at him in return, who then proceeded to help John up. "What was that for?"

"You were sleeping on John's shoulder," he replied nonchalantly.

"So?"

"On the floor."

"John doesn't mind. Can't I have some sleep?"

"He may not mind, being kind and all, but it's uncomfortable." He approached her and handed her a large silver bow, which fell out of her hair while sleeping.

"Oh, thank you." She took her bow and pinned it on her double ponytailed head.

"Right. So where are you going?" Sherlock asked, facing John, who looked about his surroundings.

"We were finding Mummy," he answered.

"At where?"

"Lingery," Molly answered, walking to them.

The boy faced her and frowned. "Lingery?"

"Yeah. Where flour is."

He took a moment to process the information and soon found a fault. "It's 'lahn-zhuh-rey'," he pronounced it correctly.

"What a weird word," John piped up.

"Yeah," Sherlock strode away, making the other two follow his lead, "it means women's underwear."

Molly noticed John's cheeks becoming red and wondered why.

* * *

"Oh my, children, there you are!" Mrs Watson rushed over to them when she saw John, Molly and Sherlock walking over to her.

She ruffled John's and Sherlock's hair and patted Molly's head. "You children; don't ever do such a thing again! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"You're too young for it, Mrs Watson. Your heart's beating at a normal pa- Ouh!"

John elbowed Sherlock at the side to stop him from rambling on.

"We're sorry, Mrs Watson. We won't do it again, we promise," Molly said, and gave her her best 'I'm sorry' look, which made the woman laugh.

"Yes, yes, you're forgiven. Now, Sherlock has to leave with his mummy, so say goodbye."

"Bye Sherlock. And thanks for the help," John clapped his friend on the back.

"Just so you know, John, right's here," he pointed to John's right hand, "and left's the other side."

John nodded and attempted to file it in his memory while Molly watched the black haired boy.

"Don't sleep on other people's shoulders, Molly," he called out to her. She rolled her eyes and waved as he left with his mother.

"Now, dearies, you want ice-cream?" Mrs Watson winked as she pushed the trolley ladened with groceries over to the ice-cream section.

"Yes!" They both excitedly shouted in unison.

"Oh, Mrs Watson," Molly innocently asked, "why does John turn red when he hears 'women's underwear'?"

"You do?" she glanced amusedly at her son.

"Molly!"

She went behind his mother and whispered in a voice akin to seductive to him. "Lingerie…"

Yup. He turned red again.


	6. Helping Brother Mycroft with his diet

If I may, I just want to take a moment to thank you to **Adi Who is Also Mou**, **daisherz365**, **magicstrikes**, **TheAnnoyingOne97**, **TheSmilingCat**, **Itsjustme**, **GuEsT**, **ArtyDiane**, and **Guest** for reviewing these past few chapters! *hugs* And also to my dear 11 followers and the 4 who favourited this - it means so much to me that you'd follow/favourite this little fic :) *hugs* -I wonder if you guys are still here, cos, you know, it's been more than **4**** months** since the last update...

* * *

"The game, Molly, is on," Sherlock whispered conspiratorially as he looked over the wall he was hiding behind to the room opposite of where he was.

"Sherlock…" Molly whispered back from behind him, nervous at being caught.

"Shh, Molly; silence is of the essence."

"I thought it's 'time is of the essence'?"

"Not much difference, Molly," he scowled pointedly at the ponytailed girl.

"Yes; you're ruining the sentence," she crossed her arms in defense.

"It's called 'improving'. Now shh!"

She huffed and tiptoed, looking over the taller boy's shoulder to take a look outside while at the same time not give herself away. They were in one of the 7 bedrooms in the Holmes' gorgeous and spacious mansion. Their mothers were in the sitting room, discussing about adult stuff, and had shooed the kids away, leaving and forcing them to entertain themselves. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Sherlock announced that he required her assistance regarding a 'mission' he had wished to partake for quite some time now.

"Sher-" she started, but was immediately cut off with his hand to her mouth.

"Wait; he's coming out." He manoeuvuered them back into the room's darkness.

She shook her head off the hand and cocked her head to one side, staring at the now energetic boy. "Do we really need to steal Mr Mycroft's cookies?"

Sherlock stood smiling like a Cheshire cat. "We're not stealing. We're helping Brother Mycroft with his diet."

"I think if he were to find out about this, we'll be helping him raise his blood pressure instead."

"No, he won't. Well, there'll be the upcoming lectures and tons of scolding and spitting of saliva, but he'll not get high blood pressure."

"Why are you so- wait, he's coming this way!" Molly immediately lowered her voice at the sound of footsteps seemingly headed towards them.

"Oh, uh, here; closet." Sherlock pushed her in,then entered after her and closed the door.

"I still think it's a bad idea, Sherlock," she whispered to him, eyes on the closet door.

He shook his head. "It's gonna be good for Brother Mycroft in the long run."

She rolled her eyes at that. She knew that his real agenda was definitely not 'helping Brother Mycroft with his diet'. Well, true, Mr Mycroft certainly needs help to…tone down his body…weight…and shape…, but Sherlock was doing this to get back at him for taking his black car away. 'Revenge is sweet', and 'sweet' in this case came in the form of a jar of cookies Sherlock had discovered in his brother's room. Upon further investigation, a secret stash of jelly babies and 2 boxes of chocolates surfaced. Really, Brother Mycroft - you call this 'dieting'?

She only helped him out in this crazy plan because he was Sherlock Holmes. How could she not help?

"Okay, he's gone," Sherlock whispered, and they got out of the closet.

"Now, on the count of one,we run over to Brother Mycroft's room. You go for the cookie jar under his study desk while I aim for the jelly babies and chocolates in the not-so-secret secret compartment. We only have 3 minutes to do this and run down to the kitchen in order to escape undetected, so ONE!" and he dashed off.

"**WHAT?!**" You call that a countdown?!

Nevertheless, she ran after him into Mycroft's room, and was momentarily impressed by what she saw.

Books were stacked in neat rows at the corners of the room, bed made nicely, clothes all folded and hanged in the cupboards. Everything had a place in his room and it was military clean, unlike Sherlock's. She recalled once, shrieking at the sight of a dead lizard next to a glob of slimey substance behind the door of the youngest Holmes' room.

"Molly, jar!" She was brought back to the present and immediately spotted the jar. Yellow colour. It reminded her of Cookie Monster from Seseme Street. She grabbed it and rushed to the door, seeing her 'partner-in-crime' already waiting for her.

"Cookies, check; chocolates, check - and jelly babies to manual." Sherlock nodded in satisfaction.

"Let's move." Molly nodded, and he led her down the staircase to the kitchen, with her trying to keep up with his longer strides.

They finally got to the kitchen, where there was no one about, and collapsed on the floor, then started laughing for a moment. They calmed down and Sherlock offered Molly a jelly baby, which she looked at apprehensively. Encouraged by his pouting face, however, she hesitantly popped it into her mouth.

"Won't be long now," he smirked.

"'Won't be long now', what?" she asked, suddenly feeling queasy.

"Just Brother Mycroft finding out his stash's gone missing and coming down to shout at us," he replied, one hand waving in the air nonchalantly. "He's quite protective of his things, and can always tell if they were touched or, in this case, disappeared."

Molly grimaced. This isn't going to end well, she thought gloomily.

"Ah, in three," he put up three fingers and counted down, "two, one, and-"

"**SHERLOCK!**"

"-there goes the bell."

* * *

Yes. I'm shocked myself that this little fic is updated after more than -oh how many was it again?- 3 months? In truth, I have no idea whether I want to keep this as 'in-progress' or not, because I currently am quite dry with ideas... However, if anyone of you have a tinny kiddy idea involving these two, may I request that you leave it in a review, or PM me? If not, then I'll leave this as 'complete' in about a week or two, and concentrate on giving you other one-shots :) All in all, I do hope you still enjoyed reading this! :DDD


	7. Why must this happen to you?

It's been awhile since I last posted up a story :( If anyone was waiting, I'm terribly sorry for the wait. But yeah, I do hope to be able to write more before school starts X( Oh yes - thank you to **Rocking The Redhead**, **TheAnnoyingOne97**, **CreamoCrop**, **mpenguin15**, **Empress of Verace**, **Monica Kyler**, **ZogioAndtheGLEE** and **IggyInin20218 ** for kindly giving a few comments on the last chappie :3 Okay then, I've been given plenty of kid!lock prompts from very willing people, and I'm gonna start with **TheAnnoyingOne97**'s idea, in which the Holmes brothers get a pet! :D Well, in this story, more like they 'had' a pet; it didn't exactly followed the prompt, but once I had the idea, I couldn't change it :( I do hope you'll enjoy reading it nonetheless, and thank you for the prompt, TheAnnoyingOne97! :DD

* * *

Mycroft was torn between the decision to either sigh in annoyance or snort in amusement. Sherlock was staring ahead expressionlessly; Molly…well, Molly was-

"**WHY?!**"

-Molly was crying.

"OH TOMMY! WHY- WHY MUST THIS HAPPEN TO YOU?!"

"It has to happen sooner or later," Sherlock responded slowly.

Molly only cried harder, and the curly haired boy widened his eyes in slight surprise at her reaction. Mycroft, however, took the opportunity to conceal a sharp bark of laughter behind a hand at his younger brother's expression. If he knew him well, he would say Sherlock needed more guidance in the art of comforting and consoling someone; how would someone ever think of the phrase 'it has to happen sooner or later' as comforting?

"YOU!"

Sherlock frowned immediately at the harsh word directed at him which was accompanied by a small angry index finger. "'Me'?" he repeated, albeit cautiously, as he pointed at himself.

"IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU BEING SOO BUSY PLAYING PIRATES, HE WOULDN'T HAVE DIED!" Molly half-screeched.

"Molly, let's think this through in a more logical manner-"

"HOW MUCH LOGICAL CAN YOU GET WITH THIS?!"

"Yes, Sherlock - how much **logical** can you get with the current situation?" Mycroft chiped in, a smirk in place as he leaned against his black umbrella. "The only logical thing thus far is that you truly are the one to have caused Tommy's…death."

"Mycroft, you're not making things any better."

"Never was my intention."

"It's not my fault-"

"YES IT IS! IT'S ALL YOUR-"

"MOLLY, THAT THING WAS SICK; OF COURSE IT'LL-"

"YOU COULD HAVE BROUGHT HIM TO THE PET STORE TO BE TREATED! YOU HAVE LOADS OF MONEY-"

"IT'S JUST A **GOLDFISH**, FOR GOODNESS' SAKE!"

Silence fell in the group.

Molly looked down to the transparent bowl of water she was grasping, which contained a floating but upside-down orange goldfish, and another tear fell from her eye. "Tommy wasn't 'just' a goldfish; he was my friend," she whispered tenderly.

Sherlock merely stared at her. "What?" He then shook his head and continued, "I mean, it's a goldfish; it can barely understand what you're always on about. It can't be your friend."

"He can, and he is!"

"Was - and it's an 'it', not 'he'!"

Molly stuck out her tongue at him in retaliation, to which he rolled his eyes. "Very mature," he mumbled.

"Though, in Sherlock's defense, Molly," Mycroft spoke up as he straightened himself, "he wasn't exactly 'Tommy's friend' as well; you seem to be the only one lavishing it with care."

"Tommy was under his care! It's Sherlock's duty to make sure he, at least, stays alive!"

Sherlock scowled at the brown-haired girl at being told he was 'responsible' for the well-being of a goldfish (a goldfish, for God's sake; not a cat, nor a dog, or a rabbit, but a **goldfish**). "I never wanted a goldfish in the first place!" he retorted. "Mummy merely bought it as a decorative purpose, and it was you who got so attached to that thing, not me!"

Molly had had enough of arguing; huffing heatedly, she stomped over to one of the Holmes mansion's bathrooms and stood in front of the toilet bowl. Mycroft followed her, just in case she wanted to do anything rash.

"Bye-bye Tommy," the girl whispered as she gazed at the lifeless fish. "I have enjoyed playing with you, and I hope you go to a better place…"

While flushing the goldfish down the toilet, a male voice spoke above the noise, "Ah yes - the sewer is a 'better place', indeed."

"SHERLOCK, SHUT UP! YOU WILL BE THE NEXT ONE TO BE FLUSHED DOWN THE TOILET FOR KILLING TOMMY- COME BACK HERE!"

Mycroft sighed a long sigh as the two kids ran around the mansion, one shouting something about human rights and the other about goldfish rights. "The woes of a big brother, especially one to a Sherlock Holmes," the teen muttered pityingly.

* * *

Aww. Poor big brother My.


End file.
